


This House Don't Feel Like Home

by anniedee7123



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Childhood Friends, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Kid Fic, M/M, Meet the Family, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Puppy Love, Summer, at least they start as kids, this is gonna be a ride guys
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-28
Updated: 2016-01-08
Packaged: 2018-05-09 22:20:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5557691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anniedee7123/pseuds/anniedee7123
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve and Bucky's lives are very different, but they always come together during the summer at a lake upstate. Beginning the summer after first grade, the two of them spend each passing year growing closer and closer as they grow up, until one summer when Steve doesn't come back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Age 6

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from the song ["Unsteady" by X Ambassadors](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B4mUXqE29co>)

Steve could hear his parents arguing when they thought he was asleep. It didn’t happen much. Only on the nights when he was sick. He stared at the dull white paint of his bedroom ceiling as he listened to them, his chest still faintly aching from the asthma attack he had had yesterday. They’d only gotten back from the hospital a few hours ago.

“We don’t have the time, Sarah,” his dad said. He sounded tired.

“The attack tonight was one of the worst he’s ever had,” his mom countered. “Clearly what we’ve been doing _isn’t working_.”

Steve could hear his dad’s boots on the wood floor going back and forth and back and forth. The rhythmic sound and the weariness in his body made his eyelids droop. It had been a long two days.

“We can’t throw a whole summer away,” he said, a hard edge to his worn-out voice. “We don’t have the money.” The footsteps stopped, and Steve heard the couch groan under his dad’s weight. “I’m sorry, but I don’t know what we can do.”

“We could make it work,” his mom said, her voice low and gentle. She used that voice when she tucked Steve into bed, telling him to sleep well and have sweet dreams. His eyes slid shut, cozy thoughts beginning to pull him under.

“I don’t see how.”

Her voice was insistent when she said, “I promise, Jo. This will be good for Steve. We will make this work.”

 

There were only two more days before school got out for the summer, and Steve couldn’t wait. The onset of the warmer weather always made his chest feel tight, and even if the school had air condition and his family’s little apartment did not, he preferred to be home. It was easier there, with nobody shouting into his bad ear or laughing when he used the wrong crayon. Instead, Steve’s home was where he could draw without criticism and his mom would come home on her lunch breaks and sit with him, sometimes playing board games together and sometimes just watching him trace a pencil over paper. She always told him he had a gift.

Steve sat at a picnic table in the shade of an old tree with his sketchbook and a pencil, tongue stuck out in concentration as he tried to draw a leaf that had fallen on the table. The sounds of the other kids, spending their recess on the swings or playing tag, faded into the background as he concentrated. His eyes darted between the leaf and the page, but no matter what he did the lines kept looking crooked or misshapen. He frowned as he rubbed the eraser over the page, ready to start again. When he looked up, the leaf was gone.

“Lemme see,” a voice said over Steve’s shoulder as a grubby hand statched the sketchbook out of his grasp. Steve jumped up and came nose-to-nose with Brock Rumlow, the meanest kid in the third grade. Everyone in the first grade, even the cool kids that never got bullied, knew to stay away from him, but that didn’t matter. For some reason, from the start of the year Brock had only paid attention to Steve.

“Give it back,” Steve said, reaching for his sketchbook. Brock held it out as far as he could reach—a great deal farther than Steve could. He and his pack of friends laughed as Steve struggled.

“You know it’s really weird that you just sit here for all of recess,” Brock said. “It’s no wonder everyone thinks you’re a _weirdo_.” The other guys laughed, and Brock passed off the sketchbook to one of his friends. They started going through the pages, getting their dirty hands all over the white paper. Steve growled and tried to lunge for the sketchbook, but Brock’s hand twisted around his whole arm.

“Stop it!” Steve shouted, but that only made the guys laugh harder. Brock’s meaty fingers were digging into Steve’s arm as he struggled to get free, and he could feel his eyes stinging as they went through his drawings, pointing at things and snorting. _“Give it back!”_

Then one of the guys tossed the book aside, accidently ripping  a page in the process. The sketchbook fell to the ground, pages dropping into the dirt. The guy who had thrown it still had the ripped page in his hand. Steve couldn’t help it. He let out a little noise that sounded like a mix between a gasp and a strangled cry, and a hard smile curled the edges of Brock’s mouth.

“Looks like you didn’t like that,” he said. With his free hand he picked the sketchbook up and shook it until another page tore free. Steve desperately tried reaching for the sketchbook again, but Brock tossed it to his friends, who started to rip out page after page. Steve fought uselessly against Brock’s grip and shouted and shouted at them to stop, but that only made them laugh harder.

His face wet with sweat and tears and his left arm sore where Brock was holding it, Steve’s gaze focused on Brock. He was watching his friends tear the sketchbook apart, laughing along with them. He hadn’t noticed Steve go still. He narrowed his eyes and his hands balled up into tight little fists. Before he could think, Steve swung his free arm at Brock’s face. He felt his fist make contact with Brock’s nose, and he watched as the bigger boy crumpled to the ground with a shout. Finally, he let go of Steve’s arm. The other boys dropped the tattered sketchbook and gaped at Brock, whose hands were covering his face.

“You _freak_ ,” he shouted, glaring up at Steve through his fingers. As he stood up, Steve saw that there was a trickle of blood running down from his nose.

Steve backed up a few steps, his hands still curled into fists. Brock glared at him for a moment, but he must have decided it wasn’t worth it anymore, because he grunted something at his friends and stalked away. They all sent Steve dirty looks over their shoulders as they went, and Steve didn’t relax until they disappeared behind the jungle gym.

Then Steve dropped to his knees and gently picked up the spine of his sketchbook, his eyes stinging and his vision getting blurry. There was barely anything left. No page was left whole. He aimlessly grabbed at scraps of the paper on the ground, seeing pieces of sketches he did of his bedroom, his mom’s face, his dad’s shoes—all ruined. The sketchbook had been a birthday present from his parents. They had wanted to get him something nice before he started ‘big kid school’. Now Brock and his dumb friends had ruined everything.

Steve held the shredded bits of paper to him and cried until he saw a pair of adult shoes right in front of him. He looked up at the face of Mr. Pierce. Brock’s head, a dark red smear under his nose, popped out from behind Mr. Pierce’s legs.

“Rogers,” Mr. Pierce barked, his face angry. Steve stood up shakily with the remains of his sketchbook.

“Yes?” he said, trying to wipe his eyes while still holding everything.

“You’re coming to the office with me.”

Steve met eyes with Brock as Mr. Pierce herded him back toward the school office. Brock smiled and waved and then laughed and went off to join his friends by the swings. Steve took a shallow breath, his chest tighter than usual, and let Mr. Pierce lead him away.

 

* * *

 

Bucky was already out of school, and making the most of his time at home already. This morning alone he had made his babysitter, Darcy, help him turn on the sprinklers and play a game that he had invented. It involved him running like wild through the sprinklers in his swim trunks, trying to get Darcy wet. She didn’t have a bathing suit. He laughed like a maniac when he snuck a water gun out of the garage without her noticing and nailed her right in the face. After that, she gave up on staying dry and chased him through the sprinklers, making him shriek. Somehow she stole the water gun from him and showed no mercy, spraying him in the face and chasing him until they were both exhausted. They went inside together and toweled off.

“Sounds like you two had fun,” Bucky’s mom called from the kitchen. Bucky followed the smell of something sweet and found that she had baked peanut butter cookies—Bucky’s favorite. Bucky’s baby sister, Becca, was sitting in a high chair near his mom and playing with a few dough-covered spoons. Bucky stepped around her and stood by his mom, watching the progress of the cookies with keen eyes.

“He definitely gave me my workout for the month,” Darcy said, her eyes drifting toward the steaming cookies. “Also speaking of the month, I know you guys are headed up to the lake house this week. I just wanted to see if you were going to need me up there to lend a hand or if I should look for some other summer job.” She shrugged.

Bucky’s mom started moving the cookies onto a plate and smiled. “With George I think we should be able to manage these two together just fine.”

Darcy nodded. “Awesome.” Then she eyed one of Bucky’s little hands reaching up over the counter to snatch one. “Hey, Bucky!”

Bucky grinned bashfully and clasped his hands behind his back. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

His mom laughed and passed him one of the cookies from the plate. “This should be cool enough.”

“Thank you!” Bucky said, and with cookie in hand he ran off to the family room, where the TV was already on. He didn’t really watch as he ate his cookie. Instead, his head was filled with thoughts of the lake house since Darcy mentioned it. His family went up there every summer for a few weeks, and this was going to be Becca’s first time at the lake house. He would show her how he jumped off the end of the dock and make the biggest splash and they would make s’mores in the fire pit in their backyard and Dad would take them out in the rowboat to watch the fireworks on the Fourth of July. Bucky almost squirmed with excitement as he swallowed the warm, sticky cookie. This was gonna be the best summer _ever_.

 

* * *

 

When his mom came home, Steve was sitting at the kitchen table, what was left of his sketchbook in front of him. He looked down at his hands when he heard her open the door and call out to him, his eyes dry from earlier. A dark purple ring had formed around his bicep where Brock had held on to him.

“Steve?” his mom said softly. She knelt down next to his chair and ran a hand through the shredded paper. “What happened?”

“They ripped it up and called me a weirdo,” Steve said. His voice felt scratchy. “So I hit Brock. And Mr. Pierce said that if I ever did it again I couldn’t come back to school.” Steve pulled out a slip of paper from Mr. Pierce and passed it to his mom. She didn’t even look at it.

“Why did they rip up your sketchbook?” she asked. A gentle hand smoothed down Steve’s hair.

He shrugged his narrow shoulders.

“You know hitting people is bad, Steve,” his mom sighed, standing up. “What they did is wrong, but you should never hit somebody else unless it’s for protection. You hit him because you were angry, right?”

Steve nodded, his lower lip wobbling. His mom ran a hand through his hair again.

“If this happens again, use your words, not your fists.”

“But I _did_!”

She sighed again. “Well, you only have one more day until the summer starts. Then you won’t have to worry about Brock until next year.”

“He’ll probably just get bigger,” Steve grumbled.

“Maybe you will, too,” his mom said. “And you know what? I think I’ve got some news that will cheer you up.”

Steve looked up at his mother’s face. She smiled down at him and patted a hand against his cheek. “What?” he asked.

“Your father and I have been talking, and we’ve decided that we’re going to do something different this summer.”

Steve sat up straighter and furrowed his brow. “Do what?”

“There’s this little lake upstate where people can rent cabins for the summer,” she explained. “We thought it would be good to get out of the city and get some fresh air. We’d be up in the mountains and there would be other families at the lake and we could swim and explore. And I’ve heard that it’s beautiful up there. I bet there would be lots of great things to draw.”

That made him frown and look dejectedly at his sketchbook. “But I don’t have anything to draw on anymore.”

His mom pressed her lips together. “I’m sure we could make something work.”

“But what if I don’t wanna?” he said, ducking his head.

“You don’t want a new sketchbook?”

“No, I don’t wanna go anywhere.”

His mom couched down again so he could see her face. “Why not?”

He shrugged again. “I like it here.”

“Steve,” she said, her voice soft like a blanket. “The doctor said that getting out of the city might be good for you. You remember how bad your last asthma attack was, right?”

He nodded.

“We don’t want that to happen again. Your father and I are worried about you, and we think that going to the lake will help.”

Steve looked down at his hands for a long time. He had been looking forward to the quiet summer he remembered from last year. He had been looking forward to board games with his mom and drawing every day. Now he wouldn’t be able to do either. But he knew he was making his mom sad. One look at her face was enough.

“Okay,” he said, and he knew she could tell he didn’t mean it.

“Okay,” she said, standing up. “Good.”

She asked Steve if he wanted to help get dinner ready, and he nodded excitedly. They worked in the kitchen together quietly, not speaking about their summer plans again.  


	2. Age 6

Bucky bounced up and down in his seat as they got closer to the lake. His face was almost pressed up against the window as he saw trees and other cars speed by and blur together. He had been pointing things out to Becca, who was strapped into a car seat next to him. He’d point at a truck with a Connecticut license plate and read out the word _Connecticut_ to her. She’d clap her hands or giggle in response and Bucky would point out something else. It was like a weird version of I Spy. The drive had been fun up until she fell asleep what felt like forever ago. Bucky was tempted to poke her to wake her up again, but then she’d probably cry and their parents would get mad. They already were a little mad because Bucky kept asking The Question.

As he fidgeted with the seat belt, he couldn’t help it. The Question slipped out again.

“Are we there yet?”

His dad groaned loudly and his mom shot his dad a look. Bucky laughed, but the sound died on his lips when she shot him that same look. “We said it already, Bucky. We are going to tell you when we get close.”

“But we’ve been driving for _hours_!” he moaned, throwing his hands in the air.

“We’ve been on the road for just over one hour,” his dad said flatly.

Bucky scowled.

“The lake isn’t going anywhere, Bucky,” his mom said. She smiled softly. “You just need to be patient.”

“I hate being patient.”

Now his dad laughed. “Don’t we all.” He met Bucky’s eyes in the rearview mirror. “We’re going to be there soon enough. And tell you what. As soon as we unpack everything, I’ll go swimming with you. How does that sound?”

Bucky beamed, and somehow became even more fidgety. His mom glared at his dad, who was smiling as he drove.

It wasn’t long before Bucky asked The Question again.

 

Another hour and a half later (but probably a lifetime, by his measure of time) Bucky flung himself out of the car as soon as it stopped in the driveway. The lake house stood in front of him, just the way he remembered it from last year. The old swing on the front porch was still hanging, the walls were the same dark brown wood, the old oak tree in the front yard still looked like it had a gnarled face on its trunk, and the stone path to the backyard still wrapped around the side of the house.

“Mom, Mom, _Mom_!” Bucky called, racing to his mom’s side. She had Becca, who was now wide awake, resting on her hip. She and Bucky’s dad were opening up the trunk of their car.

“Yes, honey?” she said absently. He could tell she wasn’t paying attention.

“ _Mom_.”

“What?”

“Can we take Becca to look at the lake? _Please_?”

His dad pulled a huge suitcase from pile of things in the back of the car and it hit the ground with a _thunk_. “Help us get all of this stuff into the house, then we can all go down to the lake and have some fun.”

“But _Dad_.”

“Come on, Buck,” he said. “I need another big strong guy to do some heavy lifting.” He knew he got Bucky there. The six-year-old’s chest puffed up and he narrowed his eyes, nodding.

“Okay. But then we go swimming.”

“I promise.”

With a newfound level of determination and focus, Bucky actually did help speed the process of unpacking along. His mom or dad would pass him something small—even when he said he could take something heavier—and he’d carry it into the house.

Bucky sucked in a huge breath as he carried in the last of the stuff in the trunk, smiling the whole way. Bucky loved the way the cabin smelled. It was like trees and old things. There was a couch and an old TV to the right of the front door, and to the left was a small kitchen with a round table. A staircase led upstairs, where the bedrooms were.

“Alright,” his dad said, clapping his hands together. “I think it’s time for some swimming.”

Bucky jumped up and down, cheering.

They all went up to their rooms and changed into their swimsuits in a hurry. Even his parents seemed to be anxious to get into the water. Bucky beat them downstairs, of course, because he was the fastest at everything, and he stood by the back door, bouncing on the balls of his feet. He stared out the window at the wooden dock at the end of their yard and the shining surface of the lake, just out of reach. He was relieved to see that the slide was still there, ready to send him flying into the water.

“Come on!” he shouted up the stairs.

“We’re coming,” his mom said as she made her way downstairs with Becca in one arm and a bunch of towels in another. “Go on.”

Bucky whooped as he pulled the screen door aside and charged for the water. He didn’t break pace as his feet pounded against the splintery wood of the dock, and once he reached the end he catapulted himself into the open air.

The water was _freezing_. Bucky swam back to the surface and took a breath, his limbs feeling like ice. He blinked the water out of his eyes just as his dad jumped off the dock, sending a chilling wave over Bucky’s head. Once he surfaced they laughed and splashed at each other. His mom and Becca stayed in the shallow area, where Becca stuck her toes in the water and shrieked with joy. Bucky’s dad pulled Bucky up and tossed him into the deeper area, making him laugh so hard he swallowed lake water. He splashed his dad to get back to him, and an epic water battle began. It didn’t end until all four of them were covered in pruny wrinkles and the sun was setting.

“Come on,” Bucky’s mom called. “Let’s dry off and go make some dinner.”

Bucky followed them inside, wondering if this summer could get any better.

 

* * *

 

A little notebook had appeared on Steve’s pillow the same day they were meant to leave for the lake. Steve picked it up like it was made of glass and flicked through the pages. They were thin and unlined. The covers were plain pieces of unadorned cardboard, and the spine looked like it was held together with a strip of fabric and some glue. There was a pencil lying next to it, the tip sharpened to a point. Steve held the little book to his chest and smiled. His mom was the best mom he could ask for.

“Steve, it’s time to go!” she called from the kitchen. He tucked the notebook and the pencil into his backpack carefully so they wouldn’t get jostled around and closed his bedroom door behind him. When he saw his mom he wrapped her in the tightest hug he could manage, and she didn’t have to ask why.

“I told you we’d make it work.”

Steve smiled up at her. “Thank you.”

“Come on, your dad’s already in the car.”

 

The drive was long and made Steve feel queasy. He fell asleep at one point, only to be woken up by the car jolting and knocking his head against the window. He winced and rubbed the sore spot, blinking out the window.

He didn’t recognize where they were. His parents had taken him to a bunch of parks and the beach at Coney Island before, but they’d never gone farther than The Bronx Zoo. Now he was surrounded by huge trees and the biggest hills he had ever seen in real life. Steve’s mouth dropped open a little as he watched the landscape slip by.

“We’re in the Catskill Mountains,” his dad said, catching Steve’s awed expression in his rearview mirror. “It’s pretty amazing, isn’t it?”

Steve nodded.

“And you’ll be pleased to know,” his dad went on, “that we’re just about there.” He turned off the main road and onto a bumpy side road, lined with tall, fat trees. They passed by a few buildings that looked like they had grown right out of the forest, with rough-looking walls and simple designs. They had large trees in their yards, with branches almost pressing up against the windows. As they cruised by, Steve caught a glimpse of something shining through a gap between the houses and the trees. Steve realized his mom had been right. It really was beautiful here. He had to resist the urge to take out the new sketchbook and start doodling now.

“This is the one!” Steve’s dad announced. He pulled the car into a shaded driveway next to a small one-story house. It was nestled into its background like it absolutely belonged there.

“Oh, it’s _lovely_ ,” Steve’s mom said from the front seat. They all got out and immediately Steve was hit with a wall of the sweetest smelling air he had ever breathed. He had smelled pine scented car fresheners before, but that was nothing compared to this. He breathed in so deep—to the point where his lungs ached—and let it out.

“Nice, isn’t it?” his dad said, resting a hand on Steve’s shoulder.

“Yeah,” Steve said. He breathed in deep again.

“Let’s go check out what’s inside.” The hand on his shoulder steered Steve across the yard toward the front door. As they walked, Steve saw a flash of movement off to the left. There was another house through the trees, bigger than theirs but designed the same way. There was a rustle in the bushes that separated the two properties and a pale face covered in a head of scraggly brown hair peeked around the trunk of a tree. The boy looked to be close to Steve’s age. His eyes met Steve’s for a split second before he ran back to the other house and disappeared.

“Are we going to meet the people in the other houses?” Steve asked as his dad held the front door open for him.

“Possibly. We’re going to be here for a few weeks, so it would make sense.”

“And,” his mom added, “we’re probably going to run into them in town. There’s a little village down the road.”

Inside the cabin more or less matched the outside. Everything looked a little old and a little worn down, but as if it absolutely belonged in this cabin. There was a little couch and a chair by a fireplace to one side, and a tiny kitchenette to the other, next to a hallway that must have led to the bedrooms. Steve found the room with a large bed first, and then a smaller room with a smaller bed. He put his backpack down on the bed and breathed deep again. This time, he fell into a coughing fit. The room was dusty.

“Steve, honey, are you okay?” his mom asked, suddenly appearing in the doorway.

He nodded and tried to breathe evenly.

“Let’s get some fresh air in here.” She crossed the room and opened the window on the far wall as wide as it  would go. “Looks like you’re getting the best view.” She was right. Through the window Steve got a full view of the lake and the hills behind it. The light from the setting sun sparkled on the lake surface, almost blinding Steve. There were other cabins scattered along the far shoreline, but for the most part it was just trees and water. He smiled.

“It’s not so bad, right? We’re going to have a good time here.”

He didn’t have an answer.

 

* * *

 

Bucky dropped the sticks he collected on the wood pile and sat on the ground next to his dad while his mom fed the fire they had built. Becca was sitting on their dad’s lap, droopy eyes focused on the fire. The day seemed to have tired her out more than any of them.

“I saw people moving in next door,” Bucky said.

“Did you say hi?” his mom asked.

Bucky made a face. “No.”

“You didn’t recognize them?”

He shook his head. “It wasn’t the same family from last year. They had a boy with them, but it wasn't Timmy.”

“How old was he?”

“I don’t know,” Bucky said, exasperated. “I didn’t talk to them.”

“Maybe we could go say hi tomorrow,” his dad suggested.

“Yeah, maybe you and this boy can hang out,” his mom said, smiling at him.

Bucky frowned at the idea. “He was really little.”

“Even if he’s younger, you can still have fun together.”

He was quiet for a long moment. "Do you think this means Timmy isn't coming back?" 

"I don't know." 

Bucky thrust a stick into the fire. He and Timmy had been friends for the past few summers. He had been looking forward to seeing his friend again. Now that new family had moved in, he might not see his friend again. The idea made his face twist into a sour expression. He kicked at the dirt with the toe of his shoe, hoping he wouldn't have to see that new family ever again.  


	3. Age 6

“Steve, honey, can you get the door?” his mom called the next morning. “I don’t have any free hands.” 

Steve hadn’t even heard the bell ring. Or the knock. Or whatever. He dropped the deck of cards he had been shuffling on the floor of his bedroom and went to the front door, where somebody knocked again. He undid the deadbolt on the door and saw two people standing through the mesh of the screen door. One was a woman who was taller and rounder than Steve’s mom, but she looked like she could be the same age. The other was the boy with brown hair—the same color as the woman’s—that Steve had caught a glimpse of yesterday. The woman was smiling at Steve, but the boy looked uncomfortable and stared down at his shoes. 

“Hello,” the woman said brightly. “Sorry to come by unannounced, but we thought we should introduce ourselves. We live next door.” She gestured to the house through the trees. “I’m Winifred Barnes, and this is Bucky.” 

The other boy looked up and flashed the briefest of strange glares before looking down again. 

Steve was startled and didn’t exactly know what to do. He wasn’t sure if he should introduce himself or open the screen door and invite them in or just close the door and forget this happened. That boy just  _ glared _ at him, and the Rogerses didn’t get many people knocking on the door of their Brooklyn apartment. Just as the silence was starting to get awkward Steve’s mom came and saved the day. She came up behind him, wiping her hands with a towel. 

“Hi,” she said brightly. “Sorry, I was in the middle of doing the breakfast dishes. My name is Sarah Rogers and this is Steve.” She unlatched the screen door and pushed it open. “You’re welcome to come inside if you want.” 

Mrs. Barnes looked back at Bucky and they seemed to have a silent conversation that Steve couldn’t have hoped to understand. It was over in a second and Mrs. Barnes nodded. “That would be nice, thank you.” She walked inside, followed by Bucky who didn’t look too happy about it. Steve frowned as the screen door smacked shut behind them. 

“Is this your first summer here?” Mrs. Barnes asked. She took a seat on the couch and Bucky settled next to her. Steve sat down cross legged on the floor while his mother took the chair. 

“It is, yes,” Steve’s mom said. “We decided to change it up a little this year.” 

“That’s nice. Where are you from?” 

“Brooklyn.” 

“Oh, no kidding? We’re just north of the city.” 

Their chit chat faded into the background just like the kids on the playground did for Steve, because he was concentrating. Instead of drawing a leaf, this time he was focused on the boy—Bucky. He seemed so uncomfortable, only staring at his shoes or his mom. His fingers were always moving, running along a seam on the couch cushions or tugging at a loose thread in the hem of his tee shirt or curling and uncurling into loose fists. The one time that he looked up and caught Steve’s eye again, Steve could swear the boy almost looked angry. 

The idea of it made Steve’s mouth pinch down at the edges. This kid— _ Bucky _ —had no right to be mad at him for no reason. He had only gotten here yesterday and already he was getting picked out again. If that was the way Bucky wanted it, then fine. But Steve wasn’t going to let Bucky turn out to be another Brock. He had enough of that at school, and this was supposed to be his quiet summer. 

Steve narrowed his eyes at Bucky, a silent dare. 

Of course, Bucky was too busy staring at his shoes to notice. 

 

* * *

 

His mom had almost had to drag Bucky to the other house. That sour feeling in his gut he’d developed over s’mores last night not only stayed overnight but got worse by morning. It was all this family’s fault that he wasn’t seeing his friend again. Instead now he was stuck with this kid named Steve who Bucky knew nothing about. The problem was, the second Bucky saw Steve up close it was hard to feel angry at him. Steve looked like somebody could push him over by blowing on him. Also like he had just gotten over the worst cold ever. It would have been easy to hate some little kid who looked mean. Steve just looked… little. 

But that didn’t change the fact that he was in the place Timmy was supposed to be, so Bucky tried to hold on to that resentment for at least a little longer. He was failing. 

His mom said Bucky had a talent for always looking on the bright side. Even now, when he was determined to be grumpy, his brain started telling him that maybe this Steve kid could be okay. Mrs. Rogers had said that it was their first summer here. Maybe Bucky could show him around town and the old cemetery down Pine Brook Road the secret cove at the south end of the lake. It had been a long time since these things had been new to Bucky, and it might be fun to show this other boy. He hazarded a glance up at him.

Steve was glowering at the floor, a line between his eyebrows. 

“How does that sound, Bucky?” his mom asked, nudging him with her elbow.

“What?” He focused back on the conversation. 

“We bring the Rogerses over for dinner tonight?”

Bucky glanced quickly between his mom and Steve’s downturned face, and then bobbed his head. “Sounds good.” 

Steve looked up at that, seeming surprised. They looked at each other evenly for a moment, Steve looking about as confused as Bucky felt. Then he tried a little smile, and Steve mirrored him.  

“Good, then it’s settled,” Mrs. Rogers said. She looked really happy. “Bucky, I hope you can show Steve how nice it is up here.” 

“I can,” Bucky said, all confidence. 

“We were heading into town to get some groceries, so we best be going,” Bucky’s mom said, standing up. “I’m so glad we got a chance to meet, and we’re looking forward to dinner!” 

Steve’s mom walked them to the door, Steve close behind. He kept his eyes on Bucky, calculating. 

“Bye, Steve,” Bucky said, waving a little. 

“See you later,” Steve said. 

The door closed behind them, and his mom herded Bucky to their car. He hopped into the back seat without complaint and stared at the tiny house as they drove toward the town. 

“They seem really nice, don’t they?” his mom said. “And how lucky is it that Steve’s the same age as you?” 

Bucky hadn’t even heard them say that. He’d still thought Steve was younger than him. He was so  _ tiny _ . Bucky agreed that it was lucky. 

“And Steve doesn’t have a sister, so it might be nice of you to spend some time with him so he doesn’t get lonely.” 

“Okay, Mom.”  

“And who knows? Maybe Timmy will still show up this summer.” 

Bucky didn’t know what to say to that.

 

* * *

 

“So what did you think of Bucky?” Steve’s mom asked after the door closed behind them. “I liked them both. So friendly.” 

“I dunno,” Steve hedged. He liked Mrs. Barnes, but he wasn’t sure about Bucky. Steve liked to think that people were easy to read. At the very least, he thought he could tell if they were going to be somebody like Brock or somebody like his mom. Bucky didn’t seem to be either, and that made Steve feel all kinds of confused.

“Why do you say that?” 

“I don’t think Bucky liked me.” 

His mom sighed. “Steve, you’ve met him one time. You barely said anything to each other. How could he not like you?”

“I dunno,” Steve mumbled again.

She came and sat down on the couch, pulling Steve up next to her. Before either of them said anything, Steve felt her slender fingers wriggling on his stomach, and he couldn’t help but let out a squeal of laughter. She laughed and tickled at his stomach and his armpits and his neck—all of Steve’s most ticklish spots. He shrieked and tried halfheartedly to bat her away or find some spot to tickle her back, but his mom was the master at tickle wars. She stopped once Steve’s breathing grew labored and waited to see if the inhaler was needed. After a moment, his breathing calmed down and he beamed at his mom. She hadn’t done that in a long time. 

“Tell you what,” she said, sounding a little out of breath herself. “Make an effort to talk to Bucky at dinner tonight. If he isn’t nice to you, we don’t have to talk to them anymore.”

“Okay.” 

“I want this summer to be perfect for you, Steve,” she said, leaning forward until their foreheads were almost touching. “And I’m not going to let anybody ruin it.” 

“I know.” And he really did. 

“What was all that screaming about?” his dad called, coming out from the parents room. He had been on the phone with his office all day, doing work. He said he’d be doing work as much as he could while they were at the lake so they could still make money. 

“Just teaching Steve a lesson,” his mom said, wiggling her fingers threateningly. Steve giggled and held out his hands defensively. His dad walked over and kissed his mom on the cheek and rubbed the top of Steve’s head. 

“I hope you don’t mind, we’re going over next door for dinner,” his mom said. “Winifred Barnes invited us. They have a son Steve’s age.” 

Steve’s dad nodded. “Sounds good.” He eyed Steve. “But you know what I was really hoping to do today?”

“What?” Steve asked, grinning. 

“A game of—” he paused and reached behind him to pull something off the chair he was standing in front of “—Scrabble.” The box rattled in his hands and Steve cheered a resounding  _ yes _ . As they set up Steve’s second favorite game ( Pictionary being his favorite) the confusion and uneasiness in his gut from the weird interaction eased. They fell into a familiar routine, and Steve felt really happy.

 

* * *

 

 

Meanwhile. Bucky found that while he walked around the store with his mom, he couldn’t stop thinking about Steve Rogers and their strange meeting.  

 


	4. Age 6

Steve’s mom had made him put on his ‘nice shirt’ before dinner at the Barnes house. It was a white, scratchy button down, and Steve wanted to tear it into little pieces. He fidgeted the whole time he got dressed, the whole time his parents bickered about what to bring over with them (it ended up being a bottle of juice and neither of them looked happy about it), and the whole walk over (which lasted maybe thirty seconds). In the humid summer air, Steve felt the stuff fabric stick to his skin and make the itchy feeling even  _ worse _ , if that was possible. 

And then it got even worse, because none of the Barneses were wearing nice clothes. The dad was standing behind a grill, barefoot and in swim trunks with a tee shirt had a hole in it. Mrs Barnes was wearing tan pants and the same tee shirt she was in earlier, and the baby she was holding didn’t look fancy at all. Steve wondered if babies had special, fancy clothes they had to wear. And then there was Bucky, who was just in swim trunks, and his hair was sticking up all over the place. Steve looked down at himself and felt his face go red with embarrassment and frustration. Anything would have been better than this. He made sure the glare he shot at his parents said it all. 

“Ah, hello!” Mrs. Barnes called, moving the baby to one arm and waving. “George, this is Sarah, Steve, and—oh, goodness, I’m sorry, we haven’t met.” 

“Joseph,” Steve’s dad said, sticking out his hand. Mrs. Barnes shook it. 

They went through introductions. Steve learned that the baby’s name was Becca and he decided that they definitely would have little baby dresses for her. He bet she hated them as much as he hated his nice shirt. As the adults talked, Steve tugged on the end of his shirt and glared at the grass instead. 

“Do you swim?” 

Steve looked up and saw Bucky standing right in front of him. The other boy was looking down at the ground like he didn’t want to talk to Steve. Maybe his mom asked him to be nice to Steve, and he didn’t want to. Steve wanted to turn away or say something to end the conversation there, but he remembered the promise he made his mom earlier. He took a deep breath. 

“I used to swim at the YMCA,” he said, and Bucky looked up. He had looked almost surprised. 

“Have you swum in the lake yet?” 

Steve shook his head. 

“You should come swimming,” Bucky said. As he talked his words started coming out faster, and his hands started moving all over the place. “I swim almost every day. Last summer Timmy used to come over to our yard to swim because he said that the ground in the lake by his house—well, I guess your house now—felt more mushy than the ground behind my house, but I think it’s because we have a slide.” He pointed unnecessarily at the dock, where the slide stood over the water. “It’s so fun. If you go down it right it’ll shoot you over the water  _ so far _ . One time I went like a hundred feet.” He reenacted the scene with his hands, making  _ whoosh _ noises as one hand went flying. He paused and looked at Steve, as if becoming aware of just how much he had been talking. His eyes went down again. “So, you wanna swim?” 

Steve blinked at Bucky. He was having a hard time remembering how he had connected Bucky to Brock Rumlow in his head, because they were nothing alike. At all. Brock talked in short, mean sentences that felt like punches. Bucky talked with his hands and his whole face lit up. Bucky’s voice was warm, like the way Steve’s mom’s voice felt when she was telling Steve goodnight. He smiled at Bucky. 

“Mom?” he called over his shoulder. “Can I go get my swim trunks?” 

“Bucky, you know better,” his dad called from behind the grill. He flipped a burger. “You just got dried off. If Steve’s parents are okay with it, you guys can swim after dinner.”

“After dinner,” Steve’s mom agreed, nodding at him. 

Steve let out a gust of breath. “Okay.” 

“Besides, dinner is—” Bucky’s dad flipped the last burger onto a plate of other burgers and hot dogs “—done. Everyone come serve yourselves!” 

All of them picked hot dogs and hamburgers and cups of the juice Steve’s parents brought over and gathered around the fire pit. Steve sat beside while they ate. At one point Bucky got up to get ketchup, and when he sat back down their knees were touching. Neither of them shifted away. Everyone at the dinner ate together on the ground, amused by the way Becca kept tugging up grass and put it in Mr. Barnes’s lap like a great gift.  _ Babies do such weird stuff _ , Steve thought, amused nonetheless. Once Becca sneezed and a snot bubble came out, making everyone laugh. Steve saw Bucky look at him, as if to make sure Steve found it funny too. He smiled and laughed along with everyone else, and silently waited for dinner to be over so he and Bucky could go swimming. 

Steve had never loved to swim before. His swim teacher at the YMCA had been mean and threw him into the deep end one day, and Steve never really trusted the water because of his asthma. But now he couldn’t wait to get in the lake. Both he and Bucky were finished with their dinners far before everyone else, and together they stared at the parents until Mrs. Barnes looked up and laughed. 

“You don’t even want the cake I made?” she asked. 

Bucky and Steve eyed each other silently. Maybe swimming could wait a few more minutes. 

 

* * *

 

_ Finally _ , Mrs. Rogers told Steve he could go change. The other boy ran off to his own house, waving at Bucky as he went. Bucky waved back, not really sure why. 

“I haven’t seen him this excited about anything in quite a while,” Mr. Rogers said, making Bucky turn back to the adults.

“Steve doesn’t get excited?” he asked, frowning up at Mr. Rogers. Steve’s dad raised his eyebrows and glanced at Mrs. Rogers. “Why not?” 

“Steve’s sick a lot,” Mrs. Rogers said. She knelt down in the grass next to Bucky, and the other adults went off to clean up after their dinner. “He has asthma, which means he doesn’t always breathe well, and he can’t run around as much as the other kids at his school, and sometimes that makes him unhappy.” 

Bucky hung his head. “Does that mean he can’t swim with me? Because he’s sick?” 

Mrs. Rogers put a hand on his shoulder, and Bucky looked up at her. She smiled. “No, he can swim with you. We just need to make sure that Steve is okay. Can you help me do that? Can you help me take care of him?” 

Bucky pressed his lips together and nodded. “Okay.” 

She smiled and squeezed his shoulder before letting go. “Thank you, Bucky.” 

“You’re welcome Mrs. Rogers.” 

She was about to say something else when Steve appeared at Bucky’s side. He’d changed out of that other shirt he had kept tugging at during dinner, and now he was only wearing a pair of swim trunks covered in an American flag pattern. 

“Come on, let’s go,” Steve said. He grabbed Bucky by the wrist and started towing him toward the rocky shore of the lake. Bucky laughed and started running ahead, charging into the water ahead of the other boy. Steve stopped at the shore, his toes barely touching the water. Bucky stopped, waist deep, and waved a hand at him. 

“Come on, Steve! It’s not that cold!” 

He looked even tinier on the shore, the setting sun casting a long shadow behind him. He held his arms at his side and eased one foot into the water, and Bucky rolled his eyes. He raised one arm and splashed as big a splash as he could make at Steve, who didn’t realize what had happened until he was already soaked. Steve’s blonde hair turned darker and dripped into his eyes, and Bucky thought that he looked even smaller than he was. He glared at Bucky, who grinned deviously back. For a second, nothing happened. Then—

“You’re gonna pay for that!” Steve shouted, and he was charging into the water after him. 

Bucky laughed and danced out of Steve’s reach. He dove under the murky water and popped up again a few feet away from Steve, who was swinging his arms around looking for Bucky. 

“Over here!” Bucky teased, and ducked his head under the water. Just as Steve got close enough, Bucky spit a mouthful of the lake water at the other boy’s stunned face, laughing wildly. Then he got a faceful of lake water, too. Steve raised his arm to splash Bucky again, but Bucky sank under the surface and swam for the shore. He could feel Steve chasing after him. 

When he came back up for air, Bucky was about to shout another taunt, but he looked back and saw Steve’s face was pink and he looked tired out already. Mrs. Rogers had said he couldn’t run around as much as the other kids at school, and that made him sad. He had to help Mrs. Rogers take care of Steve. Bucky swallowed whatever comment he was going to make and flopped back down into the water as if he had tripped, only inches from Steve. 

“Got you!” Steve cheered, pushing Bucky’s shoulders under the water. When he came back up, Steve was laughing. “I win!” 

“You win,” Bucky laughed. Steve splashed him a few more times and Bucky splashed him right back, but Steve looked happy that they were just standing around and floating now. “You wanna see how far I can go off the slide?” 

Steve’s face brightened and he nodded. Bucky scrambled out of the water and onto the dock, where he made a show of walking up to the slide’s ladder, posing like he saw the divers in the Olympics did. Steve laughed and tried splashing him again, but the dock was too high up for the water to reach. 

“Just go!” Steve said, and Bucky thought he sounded like his mom when she rolled her eyes and something silly Bucky did. He laughed and climbed up the ladder. He stood at the top of the slide and puffed his chest out. 

“And now, James Buchanan Barnes will do the most epic slide  _ ever _ ,” Bucky announced, trying to make his voice go deep like an announcer’s voice. 

“Wait, who’s James Bu-ca—” Steve struggled trying to pronounce Bucky’s middle name. 

“That’s me, you punk,” Bucky shouted down, using the name his dad sometimes called him when his mom was rolling his eyes at him. They did that a lot. “It’s my full name. Now let me do my slide.” 

He heard Steve sigh. “Fine, you jerk.” For a second, Bucky frowned and looked down at Steve, worried that he was mad. But Steve was grinning up at him with his eyebrows raised. “Aren’t you going?” 

Bucky now rolled  _ his _ eyes at Steve, and then lept off the slide. He pressed his arms and legs together and willed himself to go the farthest he had ever gone before. When he was falling through the air, he could hear the sound of Steve laughing behind him. When he came up from under the water, he could hear Steve cheering. 

Bucky smiled and swam back to shore. 


	5. Age 6

Bucky didn’t see Steve again for days after the barbecue. Every time he played in the yard with Becca and his parents and every time he looked out the windows of his house that faced Steve’s house, he’d check, but he never saw a little blonde boy. After having such a fun night together, Bucky thought that he and Steve would see each other all the time. Now his hope was starting to flag. 

“What if he doesn’t like me?” he moaned to his mom in the car six days after he last saw Steve. 

“I really doubt that, Bucky,” she said. “You have to remember that Steve and his family aren’t up here just to have fun. They came because Steve is sick.”

Bucky pouted. “I know. He can’t breathe well.” 

“So what does that mean?” 

“That he can’t play every day,” Bucky said, monotone. His parents had said those words to him tons of times over the past week. 

“Right. So we just need to give the Rogerses some time.” She sent him a comforting smile through the rearview window. “I know that Steve is looking forward to seeing you again.” 

Bucky slumped against the car door, his cheek against the warm window. 

 

* * *

 

“But  _ Mom _ ,” Steve moaned. He was trailing behind her in the grocery store, dragging his feet on purpose. He knew he was being a brat but he’d stop if she just  _ listened _ . 

“Steve,” she said, a hint of warning in her voice. She didn’t look at him as she put a box of cereal into the shopping cart. “I’ve said this a dozen times. Your father and I want you to have a good summer, but we didn’t come here to vacation. Your asthma has gotten worse this year and we brought you upstate to get better, not to make your asthma worse by running around every day.”

“But I haven’t done anything fun in  _ ages _ .” 

She quirked an eyebrow at him. “You seemed to like playing card games last night with me and Dad.” 

“A  _ different _ kind of fun.” 

“I know you mean Bucky, Steve.” She stopped the cart and leaned down to Steve’s level. “And I promise you’re going to see him again soon, okay?” 

“But I wanna— _ Bucky _ !” 

Steve’s previous thought was stopped dead in its tracks when he saw Bucky and his mom round the corner of the cereal aisle. The other boy’s face broke into the biggest smile when he heard Steve’s voice. 

“Steve!” Bucky shouted, and started frantically waving at Steve, making Steve giggle. 

“What a coincidence,” Mrs. Barnes said as Bucky dragged her down the aisle. “We were just talking about you in the car.” 

“And we were just talking about  _ you _ ,” Steve’s mom said, laughing. “I guess it’s going to be difficult to keep these two apart.” 

“I haven’t seen you in  _ forever _ ,” Bucky said, waving his arms around. “We have so much stuff to do.” 

“What stuff?” Steve asked, brow furrowed. 

“I gotta show you lots of stuff,” his friend said like it was obvious. “There’s the secret cove way across the lake—you can only get there with a boat—and the cemetery.” He grinned darkly. “It’s real spooky there. My dad didn’t let me go see it until last year, but my friend Timmy saw it way before me and he said that he swore he saw a  _ real ghost _ there and he said I was too chicken ‘cause I was scared of ghosts. 

“That’s dumb ghosts aren’t real,” Steve said. 

Their two mothers started guiding them through the store as each pair chatted. 

“Well you don’t know,” Bucky argued. “They might be.” 

“No that’s dumb.” Steve made a face. 

“Well even if there is no ghosts the cemetery is still scary so there.” Bucky crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes at Steve, and in the span of those few seconds he wasn’t looking in front of him he ran straight into somebody. He and the person he ran into fell down in a tangle of flailing arms and legs. 

“Hey, watch it stupid,” the person—a girl—snapped as Mrs. Barnes and Steve’s mom separated the two of them. The girl stood up, straightened her curly red hair, and then regarded Bucky with a look so cold that Steve almost shivered. It didn’t help that she was taller than Bucky was. 

“I’m not stupid,” Bucky snapped back. That didn’t make the girl’s look any warmer. 

“James Buchanan Barnes,” his mom said, her voice firm. “Apologize to this young lady.” 

The girl raised her eyebrows at him. 

“But  _ Mom _ , she called me stupid,” Bucky whispered. “You said nobody should ever call anyone else stupid ‘cause it’s a bad word.” 

“But you knocked her down.” 

A dark-haired man with a thick mustache  in an apron appeared around a display of soup cans. “Is everything okay here?” 

“Ivan, I’m sorry,” Mrs. Barnes said. “I’m afraid there was a little accident with these two—”

“Dad, he knocked me down,” the red-haired girl said, jabbing a finger in Bucky’s direction. 

“It was an accident, Nat,” the man said in a gentle voice. “I’m sure he’ll say sorry.” Both he and Mrs. Barnes looked at Bucky pointedly. Under the weight of their gazes, Bucky looked down at the tile floor and stubbed his toe into the side of a shelf repeatedly. Steve glanced at his mom, not sure if they should be leaving. The whole room felt weird.

“Bucky,” Mrs. Barnes said. 

“I’m sorry,” Bucky grumbled finally. 

“There,” she said. “Problem solved. And Ivan, I didn’t know you had a daughter.”

The man with the mustache nodded and put his hands on the girl’s shoulders. “I adopted her from Russia this year. This is Natasha.” He smiled down at her proudly, but Natasha was still glaring at Bucky, like he hadn’t said he was sorry at all. Steve frowned at her.  She didn’t have to be so mean. 

“Um, Ivan, this is Sarah Rogers and her son, Steve,” Mrs. Barnes said. “Sarah, Steve, this is Mr. Romanoff.” 

The adults shook hands and talked for a little bit, but Steve didn’t pay attention. The only thing he learned was that Natasha and her dad lived here all the time, not just for the summer, and that he thought that Natasha was really smart. Steve just thought she seemed really mean, because she was still glaring hatefully at Bucky. 

“What’s your problem?” Steve demanded, turning her icy glare on him. “He said sorry.” 

“You’re little,” she pointed out bluntly. 

“So?” Steve felt his face getting warm as he balled his hands into fists. 

“Yeah, so?” Bucky echoed, looking just as upset. He repositioned himself so he and Steve were standing shoulder-to-shoulder, a wall standing against the onslaught of this angry girl. 

Natasha’s green eyes darted between the two, as if estimating how likely it was that she could beat them in a fight. Steve knew he could hit someone well, and he had no idea about Bucky, but together they probably could take a girl. He crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes, hoping to look just as calculating and cold as she did. Then, Natasha smiled, and her whole face changed. The air felt warmer all of a sudden, and Bucky and Steve exchanged a  _ very _ confused glance. 

“I like you two,” she said. 

“Wh-wha—” Bucky sputtered, taken completely off guard. He and Steve gaped at Natasha as she turned her eyes up to her dad, who was talking with their moms. She tugged on the hem of his apron and sent him a glowing smile. 

“Daddy, can we all go get ice cream?” she asked, her voice dripping with sweetness. 

“Only if Mrs. Barnes and Mrs. Rogers are okay with that.” 

Natasha turned her blindingly charming smile on them. Steve’s mom raised her eyebrows at Mrs. Barnes, who shrugged. Steve only ever saw his mom talk to his dad like that. Maybe Mrs. Barnes was going to be best friends with her. 

“Why not,” Mrs. Barnes said, and Steve’s mom smiled. 

Steve was too in shock to be excited. Natasha had gone from a menacing enemy to a sweet person who got his mom to get him ice cream in less than a second. She just decided that she liked Steve and Bucky, and suddenly she was smiling and getting things from their parents like it was  _ easy _ . 

“Is that okay with you, boys?” Mrs. Barnes asked, breaking both Steve and Bucky out of their shocked silence. 

“Yeah,” Steve said, still looking at Natasha. 

“Yeah,” Bucky said in the exact same tone.

 

* * *

 

The three of them sat on the curb in front of the ice cream shop while Mrs. Rogers and Bucky’s mom sat on a bench behind them. Mr. Romanoff had to go back to work, but Natasha promised she’d be good and Bucky’s mom promised to watch her. Bucky had a feeling that nobody was controlling Natasha but herself, but he also had a feeling that if he said anything her foot would be connecting with his shin very fast. So he sat between Steve and Natasha, melting ice cream cones in all of their hands, and said nothing.

“Call me Nat,” Natasha said, focusing on keeping ice cream from dribbling down her hand. 

“Why?” Bucky asked, an edge to his voice. He still wasn’t happy about her calling him stupid earlier. 

“Because I want my friends to call me Nat.” She looked at him out of the corner of her eye. 

“So we’re your friends now?” 

“Yes.” She said it like it was obvious. 

“You  _ just _ called Bucky stupid and that’s really mean and you didn’t even say sorry,” Steve argued, and Bucky nodded. He wanted to smile because it was nice to have Steve backing him up. It felt really good. Still, he had to look mad because he didn’t want Natasha to think he was okay with being called stupid. 

Natasha sighed. “I’m sorry,” she said, and it sounded like she meant it. Bucky looked at her warily and glanced at Steve, who didn’t look fully convinced either. 

“You promise you won’t do it again?” Steve asked. Bucky felt warm all over, but in the good way. He smiled at Steve, Natasha forgotten for a moment. 

“I promise.” 

That seemed to satisfy Steve, and Bucky decided it was good enough for him, too. They all relaxed and began actually enjoying their ice cream. Steve and Natasha laughed when Bucky got some on the tip of his nose and tried to get it off, but Bucky laughed with them until his mom handed him a napkin.  

“What’s Russia like?” Steve asked as he licked some melted ice cream off his fingers. He didn’t see the momentary hardness on Natasha’s face, there and gone in less than a second, but Bucky did. 

“It’s cold,” she said simply. “I didn’t like it.” 

“Where  _ is _ Russia?” 

“Really, really far away.” She said it more like something she was hoping for than something she knew. 

They didn’t talk about Russia after that. Instead Bucky began to tell a story about when he and Timmy and Timmy’s dad went fishing last year, and how Timmy had fallen out of the boat when he finally caught a fish. The story made both of them laugh, but Bucky only saw the way Steve’s eyes crinkled around the edges as he laughed. 

“Nat, come on back now!” Mr. Romanoff called from the door to the supermarket. Natasha stood up and brushed the dirt from the sidewalk off of her jean shorts. She thanked Mrs. Rogers and Bucky’s mom and turned back to them. 

“I’ll see you soon,” she said matter-of-factly. And before Bucky or Steve could say anything she was running back to the store. 

“I think it’s time for us to go, too,” Bucky’s mom said, standing up. 

“But  _ Mom _ ,” Bucky whined. “I don’t wanna go yet.” 

“We’ve been gone a long time and we left Dad all alone with Becca,” she said. “I’m sure you’ll see Steve again very soon, okay?” 

“You’ll definitely see Steve again soon,” Mrs. Rogers said, making both Bucky and Steve beam. “We’ve got a few more errands to run, so say goodbye, Steve.” 

“‘Bye,” Steve said, looking down at his shoes. 

“See ya.” 

Then, in a really fast movement Steve hugged Bucky. He wrapped his tiny arms around Bucky’s torso and then let go in a heartbeat, barely giving Bucky time to realize what had happened. Without another word, Mrs. Rogers led Steve down the street, leaving Bucky to smile after them and let himself be led back to the car by his mom. 


	6. Age 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to say really quick thank you to everyone who's leaving kudos/commenting honestly it is fueling the fire right now and I am eternally grateful. But also, I'm going back to school in a week so no promises on how frequently updating is going to be after that. I'm going to try and get a lot done between then and now, but I guess we'll see. 
> 
> But again, thank you so much for all the encouragement. It means the world to me <3 <3 <3

Later that week, Steve sat in the yard behind his house under the branches of a tall pine tree. A few days ago he had found a spot there where he had a perfect view of the lake, and  there was even a smooth, flat stone under the tree that served as a nice place to sit. It was cool in the shade, and it smelled like tree sap, dirt, and Christmas. Steve hadn’t had the chance to sit down and draw in a while, so he had taken his new sketchbook outside and sat down on his rock. He balanced the sketchbook on his knee while he tried to draw a pinecone on the ground in front of him. Everything—the sounds of the lake and the birds and the wind, the way the tree smelled, the light filtering through the branches—disappeared as Steve focused on that one little pinecone. He didn’t even realize that somebody else had come under the tree until there was a hand on his shoulder. 

“Didn’t you hear me?” Bucky asked. Steve looked up at him and shrugged.

“No.” 

“Are you deaf? My grandpa was deaf.” Bucky crossed his legs and sat down on the bed of yellow pine needles. 

Steve pointed at bad ear. “This one doesn’t work as well.” 

“So you  _ are  _ deaf? I didn’t even know people other than grandpas could get deaf.” 

Steve shrugged and looked down at the page he was working on. He was only half done. 

“Do you wanna know what I said?” Bucky asked, trying to draw Steve’s attention back to himself. Steve nodded. 

“I said you stick your tongue out when you draw.” Bucky grinned. “I saw you drawing in front of your house a few days ago and you had your tongue sticking out then, too.” 

“Really?” Steve giggled. He didn’t even know he did that. 

“So whatchya drawing?” Bucky asked, peering over the edge of the sketchbook. Before Steve could answer, Bucky was already going on. “That looks really good. I like drawing but I’m not good like that. But my mom always says that I’m  _ sooooo _ good but I think she says that ‘cause she’s supposed to ‘cause she’s my mom. At least that’s what my friend told me in school. He said there was a law that parents had to tell their kids they were good at stuff or else, but it’s only for parents. I can tell you your drawing is good ‘cause I mean it.” 

He grinned again like he had just given Steve the best present ever, and Steve felt like he just got the best present ever. The only time somebody other than his parents had seen his drawings was when stupid Brock and his stupid friends tore up his last sketchbook on the playground. Nobody had ever told him that his drawings were good before. Steve ducked his head and smiled down into his lap. 

“You wanna come swimming?” Bucky asked after a while. Somehow, he managed to ask just as Steve finished his drawing, and Steve wasn’t sure if it was by accident or on purpose. He closed his sketchbook and nodded eagerly. 

 

They weren’t in the lake for very long before Steve’s chest began to feel tight. Mrs. Barnes had been sitting on the rocky beach with Becca, holding the baby’s arms as she dipped her toes in the water. He and Bucky had been putting together a synchronized swimming routine. It had been Bucky’s idea, and he wanted it to be the most incredible swimming routine ever so that they could perform it for his mom. That meant that they had to jump out of the water and hold their heads under water while they stuck their legs in the air. 

Steve had never tried synchronized swimming before. All he had done at the YMCA was swim up and down the pool and learn to kick and move his arms right. Swimming was tiring already, but this was different. As Bucky attempted to showed him the way to float on his back while flinging his legs into the air, Steve began to feel it. 

Usually his asthma attacks started with his chest aching, like the way he felt when his grandma squeezed him into really tight hugs for too long. Then he would start to breathe really fast and really heavy, and his throat would sting while his eyes watered. That’s usually when somebody gave him his inhaler, and things would feel a little better. When the attack was really bad, he’d start to cough over and over again and he would hurt everywhere. That was how his last attack—the one that got his mom so worried—had felt. 

Steve’s chest was hurting, and he was already breathing heavily from kicking his legs so hard. He wanted Bucky’s routine to be amazing. He didn’t want his stupid lungs to not work right now. Setting his face into a grim expression, he tried to will his breathing back to normal. He tried to wish his asthma away, at least until he and Bucky could perform their routine for Mrs. Barnes. Steve squeezed his eyes shut and thought,  _ go away go away go away _ , over and over again. 

“Hey,” Bucky said. Steve cracked his eyes open. He hadn’t noticed his friend had stopped explaining the move. “Are you okay?” 

Steve jerked his head in an attempt to nod, still trying to keep his breathing normal. His chest was burning. 

“As-asthma?” Bucky asked, stumbling over the word. 

Steve jerked his head again, and let out a wheeze. It relieved some of the pressure in his chest, but his throat felt like it was closing up. He looked at Bucky, who seemed totally lost. Steve wheezed again, and then coughed. 

“Steve—?” Mrs. Barnes called from the shore. 

“Ma, it’s his asthma!” Bucky shouted. 

After that, all of Steve’s concentration went toward how much his chest was hurting and how much it hurt his throat to cough and how his whole body started to ache really badly. He didn’t stop thinking about how much it hurt until he felt an inhaler at his mouth and he breathed in the medicine and held his breath like he’d done so many times before. 

When the pain began to ease away, Steve realized two things. One, that he was lying on the beach and there were sharp pebbles biting into his bare back, and two, Bucky was kneeling next to him on those same sharp stones and holding his hand. Steve blinked around and saw that he was surrounded by worried adults. Both of his parents were hovering over him, his inhaler in his mom’s hand, and Mrs. Barnes was standing behind Bucky with Becca on her hip. Steve squirmed under all of their gazes, so he pretended it was just Bucky and his mom there. Slowly, his breathing felt normal again and he couldn’t hear himself wheezing anymore. Everyone seemed to relax. 

“Steve,” his mom said, “you need to be more careful.” She looked really tired, and this was one of those rare moments where Steve wished he was smaller. 

He felt Bucky’s hand tighten around his own, and he looked at his friend. His eyes were red and his whole face looked puffy. Some snot dripped out of his nose, and he rubbed it away. It looked like he was trying really hard to look calm, but Steve saw right through it. He frowned, and with one look at him Bucky lost it. Immediately his hand clamped down hard on Steve and he let out a wail. 

“I’m—I’m s-s-sorry,” he managed to say through sobs. “We were—were—” He trailed off and wiped at his face violently. Mrs. Barnes appeared at his side, holding on to his shoulder with her free hand and murmuring to him. 

“Come on Bucky, let’s go inside, honey,” she said softly. Becca let out an unhappy sound and kicked her feet, like Bucky’s crying was making her sad, too.  

Bucky shook his head furiously. “Need to stay. Take care of Steve.” His hand stayed firmly in Steve’s. 

“Mr. and Mrs. Rogers can take care of Steve now,” Mrs. Barnes tried again as Becca started getting louder. “Why don’t we leave Steve with them.” 

Bucky took a shuddering breath, sniffled, and didn’t respond. He had stopped crying. 

“I’m okay, Bucky,” Steve said. His voice felt raspy and weak, but he could talk at least. Bucky looked up at him with watery eyes, and Steve tried nodding encouragingly. 

“‘S my fault,” Bucky mumbled, ducking his head again. 

“What was that, Bucky?” Steve’s mom asked, crouching down on the other side of him. Bucky looked up at her miserably. 

“I’m s’posed to help take care of Steve,” Bucky said, his voice wobbling. He looked dangerously close to tears again. “I didn’t do it.” 

Steve frowned. “I don’t need you to take care of me.” 

Bucky sniffled miserably. “But—”

“Sometimes these things just happen,” Steve’s mom cut in. She shot a pointed look at Steve. “You did such a good job in getting Steve to shore and running to get me and Mr. Rogers. You  _ did _ help us take care of Steve today, even if it doesn’t feel like it.” 

“Really?” 

“I don’t need you to take care of me,” Steve said again, slightly louder this time. He struggled up into a sitting position and crossed his arms, but his mom and Bucky weren’t paying attention. 

“We’re going to take Steve back to our house to rest, okay?” his mom said, smiling at Steve. He huffed at her. “Why don’t you go back with your mom.” 

Bucky nodded, and Steve saw Mrs. Barnes mouth a big  _ thank you _ at his mom. 

Steve’s dad helped him stand up and they all brushed the stones and sand off of Steve’s back and Bucky’s knees. Steve felt sore all over, and he frowned down at the ground as his dad’s hand fell on his shoulder. He glanced up at Bucky, who still looked upset. Steve stopped frowning right away and shrugged his dad’s hand off. 

“Thank you,” he said, and the other boy looked up just as Steve pulled him into a quick hug. Bucky hugged back right away. 

“Come on, Steve.” His mom held out a hand for him, and Steve broke away and followed her back to the house.  

 

* * *

 

Bucky couldn’t help it. The window in his bedroom looked right at Steve’s family’s house. He had tried playing with the toy cars on his bedroom floor, and he had picked up a pencil and tried sketching for a little bit. He even thought about going to play with Becca, but it turned out she was napping and his mom didn’t want him to bother her. After a while, though, he kept finding himself looking at the other house through the trees and feeling that knot in his belly get bigger and bigger. 

He was the one who had asked Steve to swim with him. He was the one who wanted to put on the synchronized swimming routine. He was the one who tried to teach Steve all of the coolest jumps and spins and kicks he knew. It was all Bucky’s fault, and he knew it. He didn’t know about asthma, but Steve’s face had turned really,  _ really _ red and it sounded like he couldn’t breathe at all. All of the adults had talked in loud, panicked voices and crowded around Steve, shutting Bucky out. He hadn’t known what else to do but force his way through their legs and watch as Steve wheezed for air on the ground. The only thing he could do was hold Steve’s hand, and he knew even that was useless. It wasn’t hard to guess how bad the attack was, and Bucky felt his eyes start to sting again just thinking about it. 

_ My fault _ . 

Bucky threw one of his toy cars at his bed and groaned. The car landed on its wheels and skittered across the floor until its nose was pointing back at the window—at Steve’s house. 

Sometimes in the cartoons, little lightbulbs lit up over people’s heads when they got an idea. “Ding!” Bucky shouted as his own little lightbulb flicked on. He shoved his feet into sandals and crept into the hallway, looking at his parents’ door before running down the stairs as quietly as he could. Nobody was sitting by the TV and there were no sounds coming from the kitchen. Avoiding every squeaky floorboard he could remember, Bucky hopped around the room until he came to the sliding screen door that let out into the backyard. Shooting glares over his shoulder the way he imagined super secret spies to do when they were breaking into buildings, he edged the screen door open and slipped outside, closing it just as carefully behind him. He edged around the house, quietly humming spy music to himself, until he was standing right under his bedroom window. One last dash, and he was under the cover of the trees that separated his house from Steve’s. He did it. 

Now he walked around the Rogers’s house, peeking into every window he passed, until he finally saw Steve lying on his stomach on a bed, drawing in his sketchbook again. By some stroke of luck, Steve was alone  _ and _ the door to his room was closed  _ and _ the window was open. Bucky smiled and poked his head up over the windowsill. 

“Hey,” he whispered really loudly. 

Steve jerked his head up and smiled back without hesitation. 

For a moment, Bucky was shocked at how tired Steve looked. He was paler than usual and his eyelids were drooping like he was ready to fall asleep for three days straight. He had looked so… awake earlier, and Bucky felt himself starting to feel bad again. 

“Are you okay?” he asked slowly. 

Steve rolled his eyes and sat up on the bed. “My mom keeps asking me that. It’s annoying.” 

Bucky blushed. “Sorry.” 

“People always ask me if I’m okay because I’m small and I don’t breathe good,” Steve huffed. His brows were pushed together in such an exaggerated angry face that it almost made Bucky laugh. “I don’t like it.” 

Bucky rested his elbows on the windowsill and chewed his lip. “Sorry,” he said again, not sure how else to respond. The blonde boy glowered at the bed for a moment before his face lit up. He jumped off the bed and stumbled over to Bucky so that they were just inches apart. 

“Natasha said we were friends,” he said. 

“Yeah, so?” 

“ _ So _ , if I’m friends with Natasha that must mean I’m  _ best  _ friends with you.” 

Bucky cocked his head to the side. “You wanna be best friends?” 

“No, I mean we already are best friends,” Steve said, rolling his eyes again. “Because I don’t know Natasha good and I don’t even like her that much but we’re friends, and I know you better and I like you a lot, so we have to be best friends.” He blinked at Bucky as the words started to make sense. Bucky smiled at Steve. 

“So we’re best friends.” 

“ _ Yes _ ,” Steve said, exasperated. 

“I’ve never had an official best friend before.” He really liked Timmy, and he had a few friends at school but none of them ever even said  _ best friends _ . He was really happy that Steve wanted to be best friends. 

“Me neither.” Steve smiled and ducked his head. A moment later he looked back at Bucky, suddenly dead serious. “But since we’re best friends we have to make a swear.” 

“I’m not allowed to swear—” 

“ _ No _ , not  _ that _ kind of swear, dummy,” Steve laughed. Bucky might have gotten mad at somebody else for calling him a dummy, but Steve didn’t mean it in a mean way at all. He was too nice for Bucky to get mad at. “I mean a promise.”

“Oh. Okay.” 

“We gotta swear that we’re never gonna ask each other if we’re okay, because we’re best friends and we’re already gonna know. Okay?” 

Bucky nodded. “Okay.” 

“Good.” Steve thrust one of his hands into Bucky’s face. “You have to shake on it.” 

“Why?” 

“I dunno, that’s what people do when they agree to do something.” 

Bucky shrugged. “Okay.” 

He shook Steve’s hand, and they smiled at each other, quiet for a moment. 

“I should probably go before my parents realize I left,” Bucky said, his brain switching to spy mode again. He looked over his shoulders and crouched down a little. Steve didn’t look impressed. 

“You snuck out?” he asked, both skeptical and maybe  _ a little _ impressed. 

Bucky puffed out his chest and nodded. “Yup. I’m the best best friend ever.” 

Steve laughed, and that made Bucky feel so good that he laughed too. 

“Okay, I’ll see you soon,” Bucky whispered, and then he was running back to his house humming spy music on the way. 

“Bye, best best friend!” Steve whispered after him, and Bucky waved over his shoulder with a small grin. Spies weren’t supposed to smile on missions, but maybe this spy did.


End file.
